Dusk
by onehellofashot
Summary: Dawn's life hangs in the balance when the very energy that keeps her alive is being used to fuel Buffy's newest foe. Buffy is finally forced to acknowledge the effects her lifestyle on her friends and family. Spike returns to Sunnydale and his worst nightmares. (Sequel to Hunted by onehellofashot)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

****Nothing

Buffy's eyes opened slowly, Destiny's Child playing obscenely loud on her alarm clock. She threw a heavy arm at it, coming down with more force than intended and jamming the snooze button. The glaring red light coming from it's screen told her it was six in the morning, but it felt so much earlier than that. Her body was stiff and unresponsive, yet she fell into the same pattern that occurred every morning. It was a war that she battled lazily; _You need to get up. Count down from ten and get up. Do it. _It took longer than ten seconds, but once she was standing, everything became easier. She pulled on a frumpy grey sweatshirt that hung just above her knees and paired them with some old black leggings that she found under her bed. It wasn't her most creative look, she knew that without giving a second glance to a mirror. At that, she quietly shut the door behind her.

The sun was slowly beginning to rise in the eastern skies and it turned the clouds above her the color of a storm. It was unlikely there was actually going to be any rain; every morning looked like that, and the clouds kept away the heat for the time being. Buffy stretched her legs out in front of her, sucking the cool air into her lungs with each stride. She kept a semi-attentive eye on the streets around her, though she knew that there wasn't much cause for alarm; vampires would be hiding away in their little holes and it wasn't common to see demon activity out in the middle of the streets. Mostly, her mind floated in and out of wherever it went when she wasn't trying to think or worry. Instead of a smile sitting on her face, any pain she felt just looked like the strain of a good workout; it really was the only release she could have aside from Slaying.

Before she was ready, she was running up the sidewalk approaching her house. Even by then, everyone inside would still be asleep. She slipped through the house and up to the bathroom quietly, turning the nozzle on her shower to it's hottest setting and stripping her clothes. Waiting on the edge of the bathtub, her mind began to drift again and the fog began to fill the room. A sound from the other side of the wall caught her ear; a cough… a groan. She clasped her towel tightly to her chest and pressed her ear up to the wall which, she realized, Tara's room sat on the other side of. She strained her neck to press herself further into the wall and could hear a choked gasp followed by a sorrow-filled grown. Buffy felt her throat close and lifted a hand against the wall, it was a silent comfort that she offered to Tara. Neither of them were able to talk to each other about the last four months openly, but she figured that maybe Tara would be able to pick up some sort of aura or energy that Buffy was sending her with a look or a thought. It was dumb, but she couldn't bring herself to do anything else.

She slowly drew back from the wall and into the boiling water, dropping her towel behind her. Buffy let the water run through her hair and down her body, scalding her skin and taking the breath from her lungs. She sat there for a minute, holding it in for as long as she could, letting it build until it all spilled out at once. Her face broke first, the emotion smashing through her features until her body bent forward. It all surged out like a storm and it felt like her core was being sucked out through her throat. She gasped, choking on the warm moisture in the air.

All of this wasn't anything new; the quiet awkwardness in the house, the hushed sobs coming from the other side of the wall, the misery that everyone seemed to choke down with their meals. Everything was different now that Willow was gone.

* * *

By the time Buffy emerged from the bathroom, refreshed and 'misery-free', she found both the kitchen and living room still empty. Without giving it much thought, she grabbed an apple and headed out. After things around town had quieted down again, Buffy began taking early morning classes down at the community college. Financial Planning and Management wasn't exactly Buffy's favorite class, but she did learn a thing or two. The bank wasn't threatening to take the house anymore, she was slowly catching up on bills (with the help of Tara), and she had even started a small savings account for emergencies.

Her professor was on the brink of retirement, the type of old lady you would help across the road for a scouting badge. She'd spent the last five minutes looking for a single piece of paper on her desk, leaving Buffy to doodle across her notes. She wasn't paying much attention to anything, even those, until she saw a flash of white blonde hair in front of the room. Her head shot up and she knocked her notepad from her desk, failing to mask the desperation on her face. Upon further examination, it was just a girl from the main office, her bright blonde roots almost outgrowing the brown. Buffy dejectedly bent down to grab her things from the ground, swallowing embarrassment and chastising herself. It was no time to be thinking about _him_. Still, the thought was there; she called him two weeks ago and he still hadn't shown up, but she knew he'd show up. He had to, right?

After another five minutes and a quick glance to the watch on her wrist, her professor dismissed the class early. She considered running home first, but went ahead to the Activities Center instead. To bring in some extra cash, she took Tara's advice and got a job teaching a self-defense class every Tuesday and Thursday. It really was the perfect job for Buffy, even though it lacked the usual kill factor. If it wasn't such crappy pay, she would do it all the time. She threw her bag down at the front of the room and laid down on the mat next to it. Mirrors covered the entire span of the walls and ceiling, and her reflection stared blankly back at her. She looked different somehow, it could have been the fact that she had been eating less and working herself more, or maybe a scowl that rarely left her face. She shut the image of herself out, squeezing her eyes and her fists shut until she felt lightheaded, never ceasing until she heard voices slowly fill the room. The class was full of her regular students, meaning the fun stuff for her; by the end of the hour, she was sweating through her shirt along with the rest of the class. She was so satisfied with the workout that she even rewarded herself with a coffee afterwards.

Upon arriving back at the house, Tara was making her way down the front steps of the porch, a yoga mat and water bottle in hand. She looked towards Buffy with a weak smile, her eyes puffy and her hair pulled into a haphazard bun. Buffy held back any signs of sympathy, smiling at her like nothing was wrong instead. "Hey."

"H-hey, Buffy."

"I thought you didn't teach on Thursdays," she said, readjusting her bag on her back.

"I don't, a friend of mine left this at the studio; he's coming to pick it up at the Shack."

The Shack was nothing more than that; a tiny shack in the center of town that was filled to the brim with old records and antiques. After a couple years of success, they even built on a coffee shop. It was a pretty popular spot, which is why Tara hated it so much. The anxiety of handling customers was so bad, that she was eventually assigned to do all the work in the back. Buffy frowned, placing a hand on her shoulder, "Take the car."

Tara shook her head, pushing her hand away. "No, I'll be o-okay."

"Seriously, take it. It's a long walk, and I'm not going anywhere." She grimaced at the why, the thought of Dawn coming to mind.

Tara smiled, taking the keys, "She's having a good day."

Buffy nodded and turned back to the house, finding Dawn laying on the couch. She laid on her side, an uneaten (and probably cold) toaster strudel laying in front of her. Buffy dumped her things on the chair next to her, sitting on a stool in front of her and running her fingers through her long hair. "Are you hungry?"

She shook her head no, glancing up at her and back to the TV. "You need to eat," Buffy sighed. "It'll give you strength."

"Yeah, maybe if I eat this strudel I can go for a run afterwards." Her eyes met Buffy's once again and the pain that sat there felt like a punch to the chest. "Why did she do this to me?"

Buffy froze, unable to find an answer. "You'll get better, I promise."

"No," she huffed, struggling to sit up. "You tell me. You tell me why Willow would do this to me."

She hesitated, "Willow… was just scared, she didn't know what to do and you got caught in the crossfire. It's my fault, I should have protected you."

A tear fell from her eye and she hurried to wipe it away, looking away from Buffy. "What about Spike?"

Her spine stiffened and her jaw clenched, Dawn had been talking about him since he left, but now she was expecting him to come back. "I don't know. I haven't talked to him since I called."

"You're sure he said he was coming?"

"I'm sure, you know he wouldn't ignore this."

They dropped the subject after that, once Dawn got sick, it wasn't as easy for her to argue with Buffy as it used to be. What used to be daily comments about Spike got fewer and fewer. They set aside the moodiness to watch a couple of movies until Tara came home. Her hair was falling from her bun and her lips were strung tight into a scowl. Without a word to either of them, she climbed the stairs to her room, closing the door with a soft _click_. Buffy stood to adjust the blanket over her sister, "I've got to go get ready, do you need anything?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm sure Tara will be down in a bit… she's probably just tired."

"Tired, right."

Along with working at the university, Buffy got herself a job at the Bronze. It wasn't her ideal choice, but even on a bad night her tips were impressive. Hank, the overweight and overwhelmingly Italian owner was a good guy, but he demanded that his bartenders give his customers something to look at. It was embarrassing for Buffy at first, but she eventually got used to it. So what if Hank demanded she keep her tips in her bra? As long as those tips consisted of a thick stack of crisp bills, she was happy… ish.

Her shorts were too short, and she had to cut the sleeves off her favorite leather jacket; it showed her belly, but it covered her cleavage. Her makeup was too dark for her tastes, but she treated it as a secret identity… and the customers loved it. It was an impressively busy night; she'd only been there an hour and had already made a hundred bucks. She was working nonstop and wasn't paying much attention to the crowd; usually, she'd spot a vamp or two to keep herself busy on her break. There was no time for that tonight; her hands flew over the counter, making multiple drinks at a time. Joshua, Hank's son, bumped into her without even noticing; a drink fell from her hand and onto a customer. Her eyes widened and she quickly reached out to catch the liquid with a towel. "I'm so sorry!" she shouted over the music.

He smiled up at her, "It was getting too hot in here anyway, I needed a little refreshment."

"Can I get you something? Anything you'd like is on the house."

"What about your number?"

She smirked, pulling the bottle of tequila away from a shot glass that sat on the bar in front of her. There was plenty of guys trying to hit on her every night, but none yet had ever been so direct. "I don't give my number to customers, but I make a mean gin and tonic."

For a minute, she thought there was something different in his eyes, but his face remained unchanged. "I get it," he smiled, pushing away from the bar. She turned her attention to the other customers, and slowly, the bar finally started to calm down, leaving most of the seats there empty. She looked for the stranger a few times, feeling uneasy, but he never returned. She shrugged it off, relieved to be out of his line of sight. It was getting close to closing time and she still had so much to do. She grabbed the bottles from on top of the counter and moved them to the lower levels, grabbing a wet rag from the bin next to them and ringing it out. Josh came up next to her, handing the cleaning spray and pulling a couple of empty glasses off the bar in front of him. "Only thirty more minutes," he sighed.

She smirked, glancing up at him, "I thought I was just imagining that crowd."

"When I was twelve, I gave my dad the idea for a 'Lady's Night'; I saw it on TV and I thought it was the coolest thing. Who would've thought that I'd regret if for the rest of my life?"

She laughed, moving further down the bar to wipe it down. "Yeah, let your younger self know that I'm not very happy with him."

The band up on stage began saying their goodnights and Buffy couldn't help but let out a relieved sigh. Within the next twenty minutes, everyone but her and Josh were still in the building. While he went around to all the doors to lock them, Buffy pulled the tables from the center of the room and lined them up against the walls. She worked quickly and quietly, but Josh lingered at the jukebox in the corner. After Hank started hiring DJs and live bands for the club, it usually just sat unused in the corner. He sat there for a moment, digging in the pockets of his apron and coming up with a handful of change from his pocket. "Any suggestions?" he smirked.

She shook her head, "I just want to get out of here."

"Don't be such a puss," he joked, throwing a rag at her.

Her eyebrows knitted together and she turned around slowly to face him. "Did you just call me a _puss_?"

Finally deciding on a song, he pressed the red button in the center of the machine. "You're being grumpy and killing the mood."

"What mood? The only mood I'm feeling is tired."

"Tired isn't a mood."

"Exactly."

He rolled his eyes, turning his back to her and swinging his hips to the strum of the guitar. "I thought blondes were supposed to be perky."

She didn't respond, sweeping debris from the floor into a dustpan. She could hear Josh pressing buttons on the box again as the current song came to an end. Finally, there was a click and Josh stepped away, putting his own broom to the floor. The sound of a single guitar filled the room, followed soon after by Tina Turner's unmistakable voice. She smiled to herself, her mother was always a fan of Tina and she could recall listening to that voice all throughout her childhood. Josh hummed quietly to himself and even Buffy couldn't help but sway to the music. Per request, Josh kept playing that album, and Buffy finished her closing chores easily after that. "You sure you don't want a ride home?" Josh asked, throwing on his coat.

"I like the fresh air," Buffy replied.

He raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, "You think Pete would be okay with that?"

She let out an exasperated sigh, "I'm seeing Pete, not taking orders from him." He stared at her for a moment as she put on her hat, "I can take care of myself."

He didn't argue with her any further, slipping out the backdoor without another word. In reality, she loved the idea of taking a ride in Josh's brand new BMW that was sure to come equipped with seat warmers and a functioning heater, but she really did have to walk; how else was she supposed to patrol? She took one last look to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything before locking the door behind her. Car lights swept over face momentarily, and Josh waved goodbye once more before pulling away. She shoved her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket and set out towards the graveyard. Before she even made it out of the parking lot, the sound of a second pair of footsteps joined hers. She stopped abruptly, throwing her hand into her jacket to retrieve the stake she hid there. When she turned to meet her opponent, she saw nothing but empty parking lot. "I'm really not in the mood for hide and seek," she called. Nothing but the sounds of cars in the distance made a sound and instead of calling out again, she continued walking. If some vamp was going to make her stake him, he was going to have to reveal his own self. Finally, footsteps again, and then a kick to her back. She flew forward, curling into a ball and flipping up to her feet again. A vampire stared down at her and she let out a loud sigh, "Let's get this over with."

He smirked at her, holding his fists in front of himself, "You sure you don't want to just give me your number?"

"Oh, please don't tell me this was your master plan," she groaned. "Are you really that lame?"

He frowned and his fists fell, "What do you mean? I've got the Slayer cornered."

"Cornered," Buffy scoffed. "This is a parking lot; there are no corners." He dove at her, teeth barred and she quickly jumped out of the way, letting him fall to the ground. "I almost feel bad for you guys sometimes," she said, jabbing a knee into his back and following with a stake to his heart.

That was the only action she got that night, which wasn't exactly a problem for Buffy. As she walked up the steps of her front porch, she had to force her eyes to stay open. She paused for a moment, the sound of a cough or a sniffle coming from somewhere out of sight. She made her way through the living room and to the kitchen and peaked around the doorway; Tara sat hunched over the bar, her back to Buffy and a chorus of low sobs shaking her body. Buffy waited a moment, debating whether she should leave Tara by herself. She frowned, that was all she ever did; leave Tara to figure it out by herself. This time, she approached slowly, placing a hand gently on her back. Tara jumped initially, but leaned into Buffy's touch, turning bleary eyes towards her friend. "I found this in the junk drawer," she sighed, sliding a piece of paper over the counter top. Buffy took it in her hands, running her fingers over it; the handwriting was too familiar. _I'm down at the Box. I found some sweet tofu down at the market, it's in the fridge. I love you! - Willow_

Tara angrily wiped a tear from her face, "She left me that note right before Glory… you know. I didn't even eat the tofu… I-I dropped it on accident. It got all over the floor, a-and…"

Buffy wrapped her arms around her, heat rushing to her face and tears staining her cheeks. "We'll get her back, Tara."

There wasn't much more exchanged between the two, and they eventually resigned to their rooms. Buffy stopped at Dawns door on the way, peaking in to see if she was sleeping. She slept with an open journal on her chest, and Buffy removed it, careful to not look at the pages. She kissed Dawn's forehead and turned lamp at her side off.

Finally returning to her room, she kicked her shoes off and tied her hair back. She took the clothes that she had dropped to the floor earlier that morning and threw them lazily over her head. It was already 3 AM, but she found herself cleaning her room. Throwing dirty clothes in the hamper and taking empty food cartons and cups to the trash. She grabbed a couple of her books from her nightstand, and turned to set them on her desk, but stopped to glance out of the window. Something caught her eye and she found herself desperately searching for it again. She could have sworn she saw an orange glow down below by the tree in her front yard. Before she really thought about what she was doing, she found herself rushing down the stairs and out front door. The air was still and the yard was empty, but she couldn't help but walk to the tree just to make sure.

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Property

**Author's Note: **_This one's a bit of a transition, but I hope you enjoy!_

Spike stared up at the ceiling above him, shadows dancing in wicked ways on the gold ceiling above his head. He felt the soft bed shift under him as someone climbed next to him, making their way across the silk sheets and onto his chest. The heat of their skin made his muscles vibrate and his teeth chatter. He looked down just as a head of dark brown hair planted a trail of kisses up his stomach and chest. He leaned his head back, relaxing into the soft pillow. "Blythe," he whispered. "Where are we?"

Her head continued to move up his chest without answering him, stopping to kiss him on the lips. Though he couldn't help run his hands up and down her narrow hips and thighs, his eyebrows knit together; blood that tasted like jasmine stuck to her tongue and lips. He pushed the frail body away from his and brought his eyes to meet Drusilla's; his stomach dipped and his jaw stiffened. "The Siren's song was playing too loudly," she pouted. "All of the party guests were too busy dancing to pin the tail on the donkey." Spike sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders, grinding the tips of his fingers into her delicate white skin, but it felt as though his tongue was glued to the top of his mouth. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and a lazy smiled rolled through her lips. "I had to put the music back in its box." She raised a dainty arm as much as she could under his tight grip and pointed to the corner; the remains of what used to be Blythe's body lay there. "Daddy was quite rough with her; I figured the mother of our mothers could weather Poseidon's storm, but we tore through her like fresh butter."

Spike's eyes widened and he threw Drusilla to the floor, backing up against the wall. "We'll be taking dessert in the parlor," she purred, pulling herself to her feet. He took a moment before following her, the sudden scent of roses and rotting flesh invading his thoughts and making it impossible to stay in the room one moment longer. The parlor was nothing but an empty room; the dark red walls matched the soft carpet and thick golden curtains hung in front of the windows. A marble fireplace sat on the very back wall, it's flames almost jumping out of their prison. A large shadow sat in front of it, paired with the silhouette of Drusilla and another feminine figure. Again, Spike could taste jasmine in the back of his throat. His eyes landed once again on the large figure on the floor and he slowly made his way towards it. "We told Daddy to wait," Drusilla said, licking blood from the corners of her mouth. "but the King of the Feast had all the rabbit's feet dipped in gold before the jesters arrived."

"Dru," Darla said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Leave him alone; you'll ruin our surprise."

Darla turned a warm smile towards Spike, catching him off guard. "The city's on fire," she said, gesturing to the curtains that began to glow. "Literally."

Spike brushed past the women and closer to the figure by the floor. It was unfocused, like something was in his eyes, but as much as he tried to blink it away, he couldn't see what it was. It appeared to be someone laying on the floor with someone crouching above them. But who? He thought of jasmine; in another time, that was something that was supposed to be important… or familiar? Everything was muddled, thoughts and memories clashed and melded within his head and he momentarily forgot who he was and then suddenly, with total clarity, everything he'd ever done or said hit him like a train. "Angelus?" he asked.

The hunk of a figure stirred at the name, turning slowly to reveal his face. Again, his vision blurred and he struggled to make out the details. "Actually," he replied, and suddenly everything became painfully clear, the colors burned his eyes and Angelus sat over the limp figure of Buffy. "I go by Angel now."

Spike felt his teeth slide out of his gums and the bones in his face change. As Angel stood to face him, he threw the entire mass of his body into his, sending Angel in the opposite direction. He landed on the trim of a curtain, ripping it from the wall and allowing the light from the sun and fires to stream through the room and over Buffy's body. She was beautiful; her blonde hair falling in messy curls on the floor, her lips stained red, and a circular scar on her neck. He carefully reached towards her and into the sunlight, black smoke raising from his skin and into the air. He continued, a nervous (and unfamiliar) pounding in his chest, reaching out to touch the bloody scar. Just as his fingers were about to brush against the soft skin, she jumped and Spike found himself face to face with the demonic face of a Slayer. "The sun's about to set," she purred, raising a hand to his face. "It won't be rising again."

Spike sat up quickly, sweat beading up on his forehead. Taking in his surrounding, he was in a more dimly lit room; there was a desk in the corner, paired with two cushy chairs and a chest of drawers. The bed he sat in was uncomfortable and the sheets were rough; Blythe lay quietly next to him, her body emanating its usual intense heat. He pushed himself away from her and off the bed, gingerly pulling the curtains back from the window. The sun was just sinking into the horizon and a single streak fell on the wall opposite of the bed. He thought back to his dream; it made him uneasy and he forced the curtains shut once more. He turned back to face the bed, Blythe was sitting up and staring at him intently. Her mouth was set in a stern line and he felt like her eyes were burning a hole through his skull. "I haven't had a nightmare since the day I died," she said. "So I'd love to hear about yours."

"Nightmares?" he scoffed. "What are you talking about?"

She laughed, "You're sweating."

"Sleeping next to you is like sleeping on the sun."

"You're pacing."

"I'm just ready to get out of this stupid motel."

"You're breathing."

He stopped, considering his reply, "Old habits die hard." She jutted out her chin and squinted her eyes, a smirk pulling at the corners of her lips. He turned away again, pulling back the curtains to reveal a terrain cloaked in darkness. "Finally," he growled.

A strong arm snaked around his stomach, softly running her nails over the skin there. "Are you angry with me?"

Spike turned to face her, taking a lock of her hair between her fingers. "Why do you ask?"

She looked him in the yes, but there was nothing within hers; she attempted to hide the pained look on her face. "You're irritable and tense; every step closer to Sunnydale is a step you take farther away from me. You toss and turn in your sleep."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She pulled from his grip and turned her back to him, tightly folding her fist into each other. The fog that had been so dormant in his head returned at full force; the smell of roses filled his nose and he could feel himself leaning towards her. He shook her from his head, "Stop it."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she mocked, moving to the small suitcase sitting in one of the chairs. She pulled a few garments from inside and threw them on the bed, slipping out of the large, ripped t-shirt she was wearing. The muscles in her back writhed under the scars there, and Spike reached out towards her. His head throbbed, and it felt like there was a beating in his chest. The second his fingers brushed against the dark red scars of her back, everything stopped and he even sucked in a deep breath. She leaned into his touch and turned to face him, taking in a deep gulp of air before speaking again. "I'm hungry."

He moved to the side, reaching into the small mini fridge and pulling out a jar of thick red liquid. Turning back to face her, his arm stopped short in reaching towards her; the fangs sliding out of her gums and skin around her eyes turning a sickly purple color. Spike raised a hand to the left side of his neck; the skin was red and raw, two permanent scars forming there. It was a tender spot, but he offered it anyway; setting the jar down and leaning towards her. Finally, her face changed into it's true form and she wrapped a soft hand the nape of his neck. The edges of her nails dug into the skin there and he braced for the impact of her bite, but her lips brushed against the sore spot instead. The edges of his vision began to blur and go dark and he felt himself breathe just so he could smell the roses that melted through her pores. He struggled to think through the fog in his mind, leaning back to ask if she had for some reason lost her appetite, but he found that he was stuck in her embrace; her jaws locked tightly around his jugular. He flinched again as if he felt the pain that he so dreaded, but he felt nothing there; as though that piece of him was deader than the rest.

Finally, she pulled away from him and brought her eyes to his. Her face returned to normal, but evidence of her true nature still dripped from her lips and onto the bare skin of her chest. The fog fell away from his head and was replaced by a sick anticipation; his veins seemed to vibrate and rub against each other and it felt as though sand paper was sliding slowly down his throat. He wrapped his arms slowly around his lower back and pulled her closer, dragging his fingers through the blood on her chest and then wrapping his lips around them. He tried to catch her eye as if asking for permission, but she only replied with a blank stare. His spine stiffened at the sound of the newly acquired blood racing through her body and he could feel sweat beading on his forehead. She rolled her eyes and turned her head to the side, pulling the dark hair from her neck. He flew at her offering, ripping into it and coiling his arms tightly around her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Without his eyes on her face, she broke for a moment; her face colliding into itself. He took no notice, the high had already taken his mind and he was too far gone to notice anything. As he grew full, she could feel the strength grow in his muscles and his arms tighten around her. For a moment, she hoped he would never be able to let her go, but he did all too soon. There was a wild look in his eyes and blood dripped from his chin; an excited smile snaked through his lips. She laughed excitedly, her own high distracting her from whatever was distressing her before. She jumped into his arms and he smashed his lips to hers. Everything sat right once again and she felt no fear for the Slayer that threatened her in a way that no other has before. She began pulling him towards the bed, tugging on the seam of his pants, but he pulled away instead, grabbing a shirt from inside her bag and tossing it at her. "Get dressed, love," he said, throwing on a white t-shirt and grabbing his duster from the back of a chair. "I've got a Slayer to meet." Her stomach leapt and the giddy feeling within turned to a smoldering heat; her eyes narrowed on his back and she grudgingly did as she was told. Her mission was clear; whatever relationship she shared with the Slayer no longer mattered. Her _property_ was at stake.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

**Fool**

_Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, I'm still learning how to college and all, so do forgive me. I hope you enjoy!_

Buffy's fingers treaded carefully through Dawn's hair, taking three separate locks and twining them together at the back of her head. Dawn's back sunk into Buffy's knees appreciatively and her eyelids rose up and down slowly as though she were on the brink of sleep. Tara sat quietly in her own chair, her knees pulled to her chest and her eyes never leaving the TV screen. Though Buffy made her best effort to keep her eyes focused on _Jumanji,_ she couldn't help but glance over at Tara ever so often as if she would melt through the floor without someone keeping an eye on her. Under the tense exterior of the night, there was a considerable shift in the usual mood in the house. With every nerve in her body, Buffy hoped that it was a good sign; that they were finally falling into some sort of normal pattern and maybe things would start to get better. Dawn's condition was getting no worse; though the doctors had no idea what was wrong with her, they could effectively track any signs of regression in her health. They all assumed it was some sort of cancer, perhaps something similar to her mother's, but with every test coming up clean, they eventually resorted to a few hardcore pain relievers and some sleeping pills. Tara had no idea what Willow had done to Dawn either, nor did she know _why._ One day Willow was normal and then the next day, she wasn't.

Buffy's thoughts were interrupted by a heavy banging on the door, and everyone froze. The same thought went through everyone's head, but nobody said anything. Tara jolted from her seat, and rushed to the door without saying a word to the others. Buffy sat frozen with Dawn, dragging her fingers faster and faster through Dawn's hair. "I wonder who that could be," she said casually, straining her head to see the door. Tara threw the door open and stood frozen at what she saw; Buffy struggled to see past the wall blocking the figure in the door without tipping Dawn off. "Who is it?" she called.

When she received no reply, Buffy stood up carefully, pausing to grab a dagger from under the couch cushion. Dawn didn't even seem to notice her absence, her eyes locked on the picture of two monkeys riding a motor cycle. Buffy hid the dagger behind her back, peaking slowly around the corner before joining Tara in dumbfounded stare. Spike stared cockily back at them, a smirk on his face and a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth. Buffy quickly tucked the hidden dagger in the pocket of a jacket hanging on the coat rack before turning back to him. "I didn't realize I was so missed 'round these parts," he laughed.

"Spike," Buffy frowned, glancing to Tara uncomfortably. Spike pulled the cigarette from his mouth and dropped it to her ground, smashing it underneath his boot and blowing a lung-full of smoke into the air. His eyes locked with Buffy's and she tried to look away, but she couldn't escape his gaze. Something about him was different; it made her uneasy. His skin looked as though it was glowing and his hair was messy, his body looked full and strong, but something in his eyes looked wrong; a faint glow or shimmer of something that wasn't supposed to be there glared at her from his iris's. When Spike examined Buffy he realized that she no longer looked like herself at all; she was skeletal, dead-looking. The smell of her jasmine perfume filled his nose and he suddenly felt ill, the buzzing inside of his head turning to a squeal. Tara looked between the two, her cheeks turning red and her eyes glassy, but neither noticed as she quietly retreated to her room. Spike looked away first, glancing down at the threshold before stepping through it, a smug feeling building in his stomach at his unrevoked invitation into the house. He moved closer, placing a hand on her arm and searching her eyes for some sort of answer, "What is going on?"

She glanced once more at Dawn in the living room before pulling him into the dining room unseen. She looked down at the floor, deciding on the best way to approach the subject. "After you left," she started, sucking in a deep breath. "Willow started acting… strange. I guess her magic got a little out of control and when I confronted her about it, she was really upset and guilty… I thought we were going to be able to help her."

"But?"

"That night, she locked herself in Dawn's room and cast some sort of spell on her. We have no idea what she did, but whatever it was… it made Dawn really sick. Giles thinks Willow is using her as some sort of power source."

Spike ground his teeth together and followed Buffy's gaze to the living room, settling on a still figure sitting in front of the couch. He hadn't noticed her before, nor had he bothered to acknowledge the scent of rot coming from inside the house until then. His stomach sank as he caught Buffy's eye again; she crossed her arms over her chest sighed. "She's been asking for you."

He turned to go to her, but stopped for a moment, turning back to her without looking her in the eye. "Is that why you called?" he asked.

"Of course," she said. "Why else would I call you?"

The remark stung; it wasn't as though he thought she was going to fall into his arms, but in that moment he wanted nothing else. She stared back at him defiantly, her arms crossed over her chest and her teeth grinding together, but something in her eyes betrayed her, something that looked almost like fear. He took a step towards her, searching for the answer within the silence, but she broke away from his eyes, subtly glancing towards the living room. Before, there was only the sound of the TV, but something shifted; footsteps, a quiet "Where did everyone go?". His head snapped back to Buffy, a low growl building in the pit of his throat. She looked up, eyes wide and the fear buried deep coming to the surface. She opened her mouth to speak, but before the words could come out of her mouth, a figure appeared in the doorway. "Who's this?"

Spike turned to face him, a tall fellow with a bowl of popcorn in hand and a goofy smile on his face. With the sound of Buffy's heart beating loud in his ears, he moved slowly towards his prey, stretching his spine as far north as possible. "I'm Spike," he spat. "And you are?"

Buffy stepped in front of him, her eyes piercing through his skull and her mouth curling into a frown. "Pete," she said. "His name is Pete."

Pete smiled up at him, unaware of the situation unfolding in front of him, and extended a hand from over Buffy's shoulder. "Spike's a cool name," he smiled.

"I'd love to show you how I got it," Spike smirked, reaching towards him.

Buffy smacked his hand away, "You were never a good storyteller, Spike." She turned to face her beaux, an apologetic smile taking the place of the frown. "Would you give us a minute?"

He smiled dreamily, raising a hand to her cheek and pulling her face to his. Spike watched in utter horror as as he brought his lips to her forehead. It was like a nightmare; time slowed down and all he could see was the content smile on her face. At that moment she wasn't trying to assert her dominance or worry bout Dawn, but she was a picture of nirvana. It shook his bones and grated his stomach, but all he could do was watch. "I'll be with Dawn."

She waited for him to drop out of sight before throwing a fist into Spike's arm; the force threw him into the wall, knocking a painting to the floor and he scrambled to put it back in its place, whispering a flustered "bollocks" under his breath. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she whispered angrily.

"Fuck?" he snickered. "I always figured that sort of language was beyond your pay grade."

She smacked him again, lighter this time, before sitting down at the table. She slumped over, dropping her head into her hands, "I'm seeing him, Spike."

His stomach sank once again, "Why would I care?"

She let out an annoyed sigh, "Oh, forgive me for thinking that your _holiness_ would actually handle something like a normal person; that's my bad, really."

He slipped out of his duster and tossed it on top of the table before sitting across from her, "I shouldn't have left you."

"I asked you to, remember?"

He bit his cheek, trying not to remember. "I'm not leaving you again."

"When this is all over, it'd be best if you did."

"Typical Buffy," he frowned. "Only asking big-bad me to come around when it's convenient."

"Don't," she muttered.

They both sat for a moment in uncomfortable silence before Buffy finally stood. "Do you want to see her?"

As if he suddenly remembered why he had come in the first place, he jumped up from his seat, following her to the living room. Dawn sat on the floor in front of the couch, her hair hung in front of her face and her head drooped over her knees; her eyes were open, but she seemed to be asleep. Pete sat unbothered on the couch beside her, shoving a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Spike paid him no mind, falling to his knees beside her and snaking an arm around her shoulder. He struggled to find his words, but she didn't seem to notice. "Hello, Bit."

Dawn's head rolled to its side, dragging her eyes to meet his, a small smile forcing its way onto her lips. "Spike," she sighed. "I knew you'd come."

His stomach turned guiltily, "Things just weren't the same without the Summers sisters pushing my buttons."

He turned to her when she didn't respond, but it seemed that she actually fell asleep while he was talking. Buffy sat down on the couch next to Pete, running a hand through her sister's hair, "It's just a little late, she's a little more cognizant in the mornings."

Her hand moved away from Dawn and back to Pete, linking her fingers with his. A sudden anger within Spike arose in his stomach, his fist clenched and his lips turned to a thin line. "Yeah, in the morning," he spat. "She might even be able to laugh."

Her eyebrows came together and her smile twisted into a frown. "What do you expect me to say?"

"I expect you to tell me how we're going to fix this!" he shouted. He could feel his blood boiling under his skin and the scent of jasmine mixing with rot was too thick in his nostrils.

"You think I haven't been doing everything in my power to fix this? You think I haven't been doing everything in my power to hold it together for her, for Tara?"

"How could you let this happen?" he snarled, his face twitching as the muscles tensed to shift.

Her eyes widened and she stood to face him, her fists curled into balls. "You need to calm down, Spike."

Pete, who had up until then been sitting by uncomfortably as the scene unfolded, stood as well. Spike felt a sense of satisfaction as he imagined the hero standing up to help his helpless little Buffy, and he would rip into his cocky little throat until his heart stopped beating, but that wasn't what Pete did. Instead, he brushed past Buffy, giving her a kiss on the cheek before leaning down to scoop up Dawn in his arms. The satisfaction dissipated and was replaced by what he could only identify as jealousy. "It was nice to meet you," Pete murmured before disappearing up the stairs.

"He doesn't know," Buffy said.

"Know what?"

"About me, Slayers, vampires; I'd like to keep it that way."

"What does he think happened to Dawn then?"

"The doctors can't diagnose it, so there wasn't really any point in lying."

He sat down on the coffee table, putting his head in his hands, "We have to find Willow."

"Tara's been trying to track her everyday since the… accident. It's like she disappeared into thin air and the only evidence of her ever existing is Dawn."

"Then I'll track her, I'll track her down and I'll string her up like the little-"

"Spike!"

"No, no, I think she's cashed in on all of her friend amnesty for the year."

"You can't kill her Spike," Buffy sighed sitting next to him. "She's tied to Dawn."

"What does that even mean?"

"If you kill her, Dawn dies too."

He froze at that, annoyance grating at his spine. "I'm going to fix this, Buffy."

"I didn't ask you to come back to fix this," she frowned. "I just wanted you to be here for her, you know, just in case…"

"Just in case?"

Buffy hesitated, her face turning red and a lump forming in her throat. "I… don't know how long Willow's going to keep this going or what she's planning. If I'm not able to… I just wanted… she cares for you and I figured you'd want to be here."

"Stop it," he growled. She looked away, running a hand over her cheek and sniffling. He grabbed her chin, lifting it to face his; she didn't resist, but there was panic in her eyes. "Why didn't you call me sooner?"

"I was handling it; I was taking care of her and helping Tara track Willow and Slaying and working and keeping it together for everyone." She grabbed his hand and held it tightly, avoiding his glare. "I didn't want to need you."

He rubbed his thumb over the smooth skin of her hand before bringing it to his mouth, planting a small kiss on the base of her wrist. Again her eyes widened and he heard her heart beat speed up, but instead of thinking about it, he leaned towards her. She didn't move away, but she didn't move towards him either; she sat completely still and for a moment, he couldn't think of anything but how much he had missed her and how badly he wanted to be holding her close to him and tasting her lips, but before he could complete his mission, she pulled away. "Where's Blythe?"

The name crashed down on him like an anvil, and guilt washed through his veins as though she was screaming at him from within his veins. "She didn't think you would want to see her, so I left her at the old crypt." It was a lie; Blythe fought vehemently for her right to accompany him to Buffy's house, but Spike was adamant in his decision. She threw him into a tombstone before storming off into the night. He didn't want her there; he didn't want the face of his guilt at his side when he was reunited with Buffy.

"You should probably go find her," Buffy replied.

He stood, his heart sinking into his gut. "You're right, I should."

"You can come over tomorrow if you'd like; I work in the morning, but I'll be up before sunset. I know you'll be stuck in the house all day, but Dawn would love the company."

He smiled, "Is it BYOB?"

She opened the door, a small smile playing on her lips, "Afraid so."

"Fine by me," he called as he marched down the steps. "I just got some O Negative from the bank, they say it was from an astronaut!"

"If only drinking an astronaut's blood could make you smarter."

* * *

Spike sauntered through the graveyard casually, the thought of Buffy bringing a small smile to his lips. The surroundings in Sunnydale were the same, but it felt as though he was coming home to something new. Everything was different; Buffy, Dawn, even himself.

As he approached the crypt, he became aware of a new sound; a low base reverberating under his feet. Lights moved under the door and the sound grew louder as he got closer. Music blared from behind the heavy steel door, but Blythe was nowhere to be seen. He followed the volume of the music through the hole in the ground where the sound was so loud that it made him cringe. At the end of the room Blythe stood over a body lying on the ground. Her feet stood on the edge of a large pool of blood, her clothes tossed haphazardly to the side. Large speakers stood on each wall and empty beer bottles were strung across the floor. Spike smashed the power source with his foot, the lack of music leaving a silence only interrupted by the sweet tune of Blythe's voice. "What are you doing?"

"I found all of these things when I got here," she sighed. "I was just doing a little investigating."

"And I'm assuming the lack of clothing isn't an invitation considering the way we left things."

"It was getting too hot."

"Is he dead?"

"Very much so, can't you smell it?"

He ignored the question, grabbing her by the soldiers and spinning her around. "You _don't _kill people here, do you understand?"

She grabbed him by the throat, her nails sliding effortlessly through his skin. "I will do just as I please," she snarled. "You should be careful to remember _what _I am." She released him roughly, blood under her fingernails and chagrin on her face. "I haven't killed anyone, he was already here."

He paused for a moment, his faux pas hanging awkwardly in the air; an embarrassed "oh" was all he could manage to get out in reply. She sat on one of the speakers, picking up an open beer from beside her and taking a sip; her face scrunched up and she tossed the can to the side. "A couple of days old," she groaned. "I'm guessing he is too."

Spike leaned down to inspect the body; he was a rather large fellow with tattoos running down every inch of visible skin save his face. It looked as though he'd lost all of his blood through his ears. "Look at his hands," Blythe said. Doing as instructed, he found a strange pattern of scars stemming from his palms and running all the way up his arms. He shot a furtive glance in Blythe's direction before taking a peak under his shirt. She paid him no attention, dragging her fingers through her hair and shooting a troubled glare at the floor. "Go ahead," she sighed. "Rip it off." He attempted not to look surprised at her complete awareness, but instead did as told, ripping his shirt down the middle. The scars congregated once again in the place over his heart, its color turning blue and black towards the center. "Odd, isn't it?"

"Definitely not the victim of a vampire."

"Well, get rid of him," she said, approaching the ladder. "Something tells me he didn't smell much better when he was alive."

He did as he was told, tossing the body into a waiting grave without a second thought. "Marvin Virginia Rabbit," he said aloud. "Looked more like a Leslie who goes by a manlier last name if you ask me."

Upon returning, Blythe sat on his old couch, her knees drawn to her chest and her chin resting on her knees. "I hate this place," she sighed.

He plopped down behind her, placing a hand on her back and dragging his nails lightly across the skin there. "I know."

"But you don't," she said. "You don't hate it here and you don't intend to leave, do you?"

"I don't know."

She turned to face him, her cheeks wet and her nose red. She kissed him lightly, "You're a fool."

"I know."


End file.
